


even in arcadia here I am

by Cicadaemon



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Basically Edward Little being hornier than a pubescent boy, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PWP, Rating May Change, Thats Chapter 6 as a warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicadaemon/pseuds/Cicadaemon
Summary: chapter 13:Despite it all he still had a chill in his bones. It was like the Arctic didn’t want to leave him.





	1. a list to keep (Little/Jopson)

Edward has a list of things he loved most. He had first made this list during their first winter in the ice, when he felt melancholy take hold of him. Make a list, a voice said in his head. Make a list and try to remember what makes you happy.

It had worked some what and he still kept a mental tally, every so often adding to it. He loved the smell of salt water, the way a summer sun would feel on his sin, warm bread from the bakery he used to go to, Mr. Blanky’s snarky remarks, the smelling of Mr. Honey’s carving station, the sound of china clinking together, and how the ship seemed to breath around him. These things made him happy. He hadn’t until recent allowed himself to put another couple onto the list. How when Jopson smiled little dimples would appear, how soft his hair looked, the way his grey eyes would twinkle, how good it felt to touch him.

He had mentally added these the night Thomas Jopson had kissed him. How they had played around each other for what felt like years. Edward had always been nervous to try anything, or to even strike up a friendship. One look from the steward was all that was needed for his knees to go weak and his heart to give. On one fateful afternoon, Edward had found himself alone with Thomas, a rare thing indeed. Most of the men were up deck with the exception of maybe the surgeon and a few men in the orlop. Edward had gone to the Captain’s cabin for some reason he now did not remember. Instead of finding his captain, he found Jopson organizing and putting things into their place.

“Oh Lieutenant,” Jopson had stood straight then, placing a final glass onto a tray. “I’m afraid you just missed the Captain. He and Doctor Peddie were talking about medical supplies and our Captain decided he needed to make his way to Erebus. I doubt he’ll be back for some time.”

“Ah,” His throat felt tight. “Well, I uh-“

He always turned out like this with Jopson, a fumbling fool. He couldn’t help it, he loved every aspect of the man. It was enough to paralyze him.

“Would you like a drink Lieutenant?” Jopson’s voice was cheery, not the fake kind that some of these men had, but the real thing. Another to add to his list.

Edward saw this opportunity, a moment alone and opened his mouth without thinking. “You’re a good, kind man. No better could be found.”

Jopson stood, shocked. Edward felt his face flush. Stupid. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jopson I-“

“I could say the same for you,” His voice was soft, something there. “It is a shame I do not get to spend more time with you Lieutenant.”

Edward could have collapsed, but instead he smiled weakly and muttered a thank you before leaving the cabin confused and flustered.

His list went further. How genuine Jopson was, the way he kept a neat appearance, the soft manner he spoke in, the way he’d lick his lips quickly when asked a question.

Edward could have considered himself crazy, but after that conversation he noticed that where there wasn’t before there was now more from Jopson. If they passed while Jopson was conducting his duties, he’d offer Edward a drink or a moment. An “I’m doing a quick bit of laundry, do you need anything done” or “your collar needs fixing, here let me help you”. Each time Edward would combust, his heart beating so fast it would fail.

He had been too shy to reciprocate and there was the fact that he also did not know how to respond if his shyness did not take hold. Then one evening he found Jopson in his own cabin.

Edward had been readying for bed, when a soft knock was heard.

“Yes?” He called out. He hadn’t expected the steward, least of all in a state of undressed. Edward had choked on his on saliva.

“I’m sorry to disturb,” Jopson’s voice was low and for good reason. Despite the cabin being connected away from the main area there was always a risk. “I need to talk to you.”

Edward thought he’d die then. Talk. The only thing that kept his heart beating and his lungs working was the worried look on his face. That this wasn't about to be accusations of some sort. He knew Jopson well enough that this was not a look that came before that.

“Yes,” Edward breathed out. He found himself walking backward, his back hitting the shared wall between him and Crozier’s cabin. “What can I help you with?”

Jopson seemed to swallow hard, his face scrunched up. “That day, in the cabin. You complimented me. You said that sweet thing about me. That I was good and kind. Out of nowhere.”

“I lost control of my tongue,” he began. “I am so sorry.”

Jopson took steps towards him, till there was barely a gap. “Don’t be. Those words have plagued me, but in the most wonderful way. Lieutenant, how do you feel about the certain friendships that form between men?”

Edward stared confused, he understood and yet he didn’t. “I don’t quite get what you are hinting at.”

Jopson’s grey eyes twinkled, he had never been so close but here he could see they were an amalgamation of colours he never thought possible. So incredibly beautiful. “Do you by chance like Latin?”

It was like a key fitting into place. Click. His knees shook and his heart fastened, but this was nothing new. “I enjoy it.”

Before Edward knew what to do next, Jopson’s lips were pressed against his. They were soft and sweet. He stiffened in response, too afraid to kiss back. It had only been a peck, but it was enough to send his blood boiling. He opened his eyes a little when Jopson’s pulled away a little. He looked so beautiful.

“Edward,” Hearing his name being whispered by such a lovely creature almost caused him to collapse. He was sick in love and he never wished to get better.

“Thomas,” he whispered back. “More.”

Thomas delivered, this kiss stronger, lips playing against his own. A hint that he had to kiss back proper this time. He did so, but it was sloppy and untrained, his nerves adding to the mess. He swore he felt Thomas smile before he grabbed his hands which had pressed against the wall and placed them onto his hips.

Edward loved how firm Thomas felt beneath his fingertips. Steady and warm. He gasped when he felt his face cupped by those warm slender hands, rougher than he had originally imagined. Their kiss turned more passionate, Edward at every attempt tried to deepen it, and Thomas allowing it. They broke apart finally when they heard the sound of someone making their way to their own cabin.

Thomas had looked to him, his lips swollen and red, hair a mess and his breath heavy. The look in his eyes promised this would not be a onetime thing. And that promise came through time and time again.

Edward could add more to his list then. How this sweet man would laugh at Mr. Blanky’s snarky remarks, how he always seemed to smell of fresh linen and sea salt, the way his fingers would lightly trace his wrist, the soft sounds he made when kiss, and how much Edward adored Thomas Jopson.


	2. in the dark tonight i'm coming back for you (Little/Jopson)

To him, Carnivale had been some sort of fever dream. The bright colours, the heat, the abundance of cheer. It had all become unnatural to him these long, cold hard months. He loved and was so wary of it all.

With Crozier out of commission, Little hadn’t expected to see the Captain let alone his faithful shadow out miles from the ship to partake in the celebrations. And yet Edward’s heart had nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw the familiar face of Thomas there amongst all the warm colours and light. Heavenly. While his body quaked, he kept his face straight. A quick look was all they could afford. Anything more could be deadly.

Little had felt more in a fever dream as he watch Dr. Stephan S. Stanley set himself on fire, thus dooming them all. The heat was unbearable, and the yelling was unreal. The smell was something horrific. Burnt fleshed didn’t smell like meat cooking as it more did grease and fat. He had never been so glad to be out in the cool air, far from it all.

His first action had been to find Jopson. Had it been two nights previous that they had snuck away to the steward’s cabin to enjoy more than each other’s company? He had the bruises on his thighs to prove it. He had in passion called the man ‘my Thomas’ and kissed him so hard he swore their lips would go purple. Now he was panicked wondering if this man would be among the dead, still burning in the tent.

Instead he found Thomas in the crowd, men around them clinging to their friends and crying out in relief or pain. Edward didn’t think and instead called out his lover’s name, pushing his way to him. Open arms greeted him and he pressed hard into that warm, familiar body taking in how right it felt to press into him.

“It’s okay,” Thomas whispered into his ear as Edward pressed his face into his neck. Fingers found their way into his thick hair, and he relished how they felt. “It’s all okay.”

He allowed himself to let out a quick sob, betraying everything he felt. He pressed his hands into Thomas’ back not wanting to ever let go.


	3. night brings night (Goodsir)

The men didn’t want the one body with the others, but Captain Crozier and Fitzjames had put an end to any talk. It was horrifically burnt, but Goodsir could still see the handsome features that once belonged to Dr. Stanley. It wasn't the only body.

Three bodies, three surgeons. He suddenly felt nauseous, remembering how he had talked badly about Dr. Peddie in one letter to his father. A man who will do nothing unless to bring in money he had written, proud of himself for finally taking up the pen once more. Dr. Peddie had been more than that, a kind man who spoke softly of his wife and newborn daughter who’d have turned two the past year. Dr. Stanley had been just married before leaving, and Harry had in one memorable occasion gotten the doctor to smile when talking about his wife. Dr. MacDonald was a good man all around and he had been so keen to share what he knew with Harry. In the end, they had all called him Mister Goodsir as if he did not slave away for over 7 years at the University of Edinburgh, the same school Peddie and MacDonald went to. Same credentials, same knowledge and yet because his interest laid in anatomy he was somehow lesser?

He couldn’t hate them for that.

There were too many bodies to make coffins out of, but Mr. Honey had done his best. The surgeons would get wrapped in cloth and thrown down into an opening in the ice, much like what had happened to Silence’s father and most of Sir John. For now, they were in this Sick Bay with other corpses that Harry had offered to oversee. It had been three days since Carnivale and he hadn’t slept at all. His own leg had been burnt in the whole affair, but he had ignored it to take care of those who had been more grievously injured. Even with Mr. Bridgens (he had the basics down but had been next to useless when it came to more complex treatments), Harry was doing the work of four surgeons. On top of taking care of the crew there was Lady Silence who hadn’t woken in days.

She had been placed in Dr. MacDonald’s old cabin and when he wasn’t busy in the Sick Bay he was by her side. He felt worn thin, his leg throbbing and his eyes burning.

He looked at the faces of Alexander MacDonald and John Peddie feeling a pain in his chest that seemed to consume him. He looked to Stephan Stanley and saw someone he had despised and saw as an obstacle. He also saw a man who had been so obviously melancholic in the past months, who had missed his wife and step-son.

“I forgive you,” Harry croaked out to the dead body. No response. “I’ll go home, and I’ll tell Mrs. Stanley you were a good man who died well. I promise.”

He realized he didn’t even now that woman’s name and the horror hit him that this woman wouldn’t even know she was a widow. Mrs. Peddie would raise a daughter with no husband. MacDonald, a fellow Scotsman would never see home again.

The horror that he may never see his father, brothers and dear sister again hit him hard as though he had been punched. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself. It was too late though, tears were already flowing.


	4. Believe Me (Goodsir)

John had always been more artistic out of all of them. Harry remembered watching their mother and John in the drawing room as she would show him the basics of drawing and the anatomy that went into them. Maybe that’s what had originally gotten him interested. Joseph had been keen to explore the farmlands that stretched out between Anstruther and Kilrenny, sometimes coming home with a sunflower he’d stole from one of the fields. They’d sit in the backyard and carefully pick the seeds and eat them all.

Jane was the more put together out of all of them, but not one to adhere to feminine standards. She’d be down by the beach near the docks collecting stones with her brothers and telling them what each stone was and how it formed. She had been the true scientist out of all of them, the first to be so interested. Agnes had died when Harry was four, he barely remembered her, but he if he focused hard enough he’d see their mother out in the garden holding a tiny baby dressed in frills, so happy to be held.

Robert was the kid to bring home frogs and a pile of mud in his boots. His charming smile was sure to get him out of trouble, but only for a day before he’d bring home another creature. He was a scoundrel, but a true friend who was happy to serve and to love, the most redeeming quality about him. Archie had been the softest and shyest, he clung to Harry as Harry once clung to John. He enjoyed being the older brother whom his little brother would listen to and adore.

He had never been so far from any of them really, Edinburgh, London and Anstruther had distance between them yes, but they had been close enough that Harry found himself rarely missing his family.

He was in Disko Bay now, about done his last letter to his father. Next would be to John. The last communication he’d have with his family till the sailed into the Pacific. He had duck feathers and pressings of flowers all boxed up, a gift for John and Jane respectively. The letters his father wrote sat in a box beside his bed, the little cabin which he occupied didn’t have much room for storage or living at all, but Harry made do. Nostalgia was a sickness and he could easily say he was ill. He had been terrible seasick for a week and had thought nothing, but his family wishing he was home on solid ground. He had in the evenings allowed himself to think of his friends and colleagues he left behind, but he avoid most thoughts of his family fearing it'd make him miss them more. Now though, with this letter coming to a close he was less occupied by thoughts of what laid ahead, but what he was leaving behind.

His father had been a strict fellow even in his childhood, so quick to squash Harry’s dreams of running off onto a fishing boat or to try and keep him from rocking. Still it was obvious the man loved him and feared that what made him so odd and different would come back to hurt him. He had been so worried the last time he saw him, concerned that he was about to lose his son. Even his letters reflected this, in between the complaints about his spelling. Harry didn’t allow himself to think of his mam who had passed, but four year ago. Funny enough, the blanket draped on his mattress now was one that she had made for him when he had graduated and decided to stay in Edinburgh indefinitely. Though he couldn't think of her, Elizabeth in a way was still embracing her son with warmth and love a thousand miles away from her and his home.

He rubbed his eyes. It was so late in the night already. Even in the day he was constantly tired and yet he had never had such a supply of energy before in his life. He dipped the pen one more time and finished off the letter swiftly knowing that he still had more letters to write before the night passed by him.

_‘Tell Joseph and Jane that it is only want of time which prevents me writing them & I hope that everything will go well with them till we meet again. Remember me to all friends _

_and Believe me_

_Your most affectionate son_

_Harry D. S. Goodsir’_

He’d return a hero and etch his family name into history forever if this went as smoothly as Harry knew it would. And when that happen he’d be with his family again, something he could not wait to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That letter part was actually from the last letter Harry wrote to his father. Jane was quite the scientist and was really interested in botany, I love her so much.


	5. what I'd do for you (Fitzjames/Vesconte

“If we make it out of here we should go somewhere hot,” Vesconte said casually. “Perhaps back to our little guano island.”

Fitzjames smiled at him, getting the little joke quickly. “You say that as though you don’t believe we’ll find the Passage and that you actually liked our station there.” he smiled wider, it suited his already so handsome face. “Perhaps back to Shanghai, I enjoyed our time there. As much as I could of course.”

They were situated on the bed in Fitzjames cabin, the night still young, but late enough that they could get away with such leisure without guilt. Vesconte shuffled closer to his friend, pressing their shoulders pressing up to each other.

“Perhaps the Caribbean this time,” he spoke softly. “Somewhere hot with beaches where we could swim.” Fitzjames hummed at this but said nothing so he continued. “We should go, but as men who want to enjoy themselves, not as a job. We’ll rent a place, we’ll have the money to do so then. Enjoy each other’s company, properly.”

Vesconte touched his hand gently to his friend’s and interlaced their fingers. Ftizjames squeezed softly. “Anything you want. Once we find this Passage and we are home,” He pressed a kiss to Vesconte’s temple, lips slightly chapped. “Anything for you Henry.”


	6. let me be yours (Little/Jopson)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this is porn. I'd skip this chapter entirely if you dont want to read that.
> 
> Also this is dedicated to pyotr aka thomasblanky on tumblr. Feel better!!!
> 
> Edit: pyotr is better and Im 105% sure it was this porn that cured them. your welcome mal

He supposed he should be embarrassed about it all. Dinner had not gone so smoothly, or rather it had for everyone else.

It had been Terror’s turn to host Sir John and Fitzjames along with two of their Lieutenants, Le Vesconte and Fairholme. Little had looked forward to this, though it was obvious that the Captain took no pleasure in the Commander’s stories, it did not stop him for doing so. The so called “Handsomest man in the Navy” was good with his words and at times very funny. It was a treat having him aboard. What had made this dinner dreadful had nothing to do with the people at the table, but rather the man to the side.

Dreadful was the wrong word to associate with Jopson, but it did work well with the embarrassing manner in which Edward’s body reacted to him. From the second they had first kissed in his cabin, Edward Little had been consumed by Jopson, it was as though some unknown door had been opened and all these emotions he did not realise he had possessed were now spilling out. Mainly lust. They had snuck away at any given opportunity to rut about like some newlywed couple, though for the most part it came to nothing. Edward couldn’t admit how badly he wanted to be used, to be pressed against a mattress as Jopson would pound into him. He needed more than just frotting, it was as if there was an itch that could not be scratched. This itch was enough to bother him throughout the day.

Being around Jopson didn’t send him into a frenzy, he was well practiced in containing himself and had a naturally miserable expression which would sometimes work in his favour. It was through out the dinner when Jopson would give him that _look_ that would make Little’s blood boil. At one point, while pouring more Allsopps into his glass, Little had made the mistake to look to Jopson. Their eyes met and there was that look again, the same one that Jopson had given him nights ago when he had made Little climax so hard he could barely stand. Needless to say, this one look was all he needed for a very embarrassing cockstand.

This lead to him now in his cabin, long after the dinner was done humping his mattress and pretend it was Jopson’s leg. Which was something they had done and, on that occasion, again he had an orgasm so hard he had to lean against his lover for support.

Edward smiled, his face pressed hard against his pillow thinking about it, he had found an excuse to be in Jopson’s cabin that night, asking for help with his jacket that had a small tear in it. Instead he had thrown the jacket onto the bed and kissed Jopson with eagerness and passion.

He had gotten bold, pressing Jopson up against the wall, “Pretty please, Thomas.” He had whispered, lips just barely touching.

“Perhaps I should make you beg more,” Thomas laughed then, his own face flushed. “I like it a lot.”

That’s when Edward had begun to grind softly on the thigh that Thomas had slipped between his legs. “Mr. Jopson, know I can’t go around looking like a street rat. Fix my jacket up or better yet fix me up. Make me feel good. Please, I need you.”

He had whined that last sentencing, knowing Thomas would love it and by the way he had been kissed it had worked. This wasn’t a gentle kiss, it was something hard and bruising which turned Edward on more than he’d like to admit. He ground down hard and let out a whimper.

“You think,” Jopson’s voice cracked slightly, having broken the kiss. “Making a mess in your trousers will help with not looking like a street rat.”

He laughed softly, “I was hoping you’d help me with that too. Touch me.”

He could feel Thomas smile as he pressed his lips back to him in a quick peck. “I don’t think I will. Take care of it yourself.”

“At least kiss me.”

“Now what do you say, Edward? Manners are important.”

He gasped hard then, having begun grinding on his leg harder and faster. It was maddening. “Pl-fuck please Mr. Jopson. Please I need you I need it.”

Thomas had looked at him slyly, a toothy grin on his face. “Oh, you tease,” Edward hissed out, not stopping with his movements. It had been ridiculously how close he’d been so fast. “Mr. Jopson I am _begging_ you I have to kiss you please I’ll go mad-“

Thomas had kissed him then, his hand suddenly gripping his buttocks grinding back with fervor. Edward almost whinnied loudly then, the intensity was enough to start sending him over the edge. It was like all the heat in his body had been concentrated into his groin and he was going lightheaded.

“Ah fuck, Thomas,” He moaned. He couldn’t stop himself from swearing. “Fuck fuck fuck-“

“Tell me how much you like it,” Thomas said breathily. He then moaned loudly and bit his lip in response. “Tell me.”

He gave him quick kiss, trailing his tongue ever so slightly on Thomas’ lower lip. “I love it, god you’re the best I’ve ever had. I want to do so many things to you, I want you to do so many things to me. Fuck Thomas you make me feel so good I can barely stand it.”

He had moaned again in response to that, face flushed. “Hmm you’re so good too.”

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” Edward had continued. “Throw me onto your- haa fuck onto your bed and just ruin me. Fuck me so hard I can barely stand. I want you to spill all in me, use me as you want. No one has ever made me feel this way or this good and hnng fuck Thomas I’m close.”

No more words were said, instead they kissed each other hard, Thomas nipping at his lips. His thighs shook and trembled as he spent himself hard. He bit down hard on his lip, trying not to shout though he desperately wanted to. He didn’t care if anyone heard in that moment, he wanted the ship to know that he was Thomas’ and that this man had made him feel so euphoric. He still had enough wits about him to not let this happen though.

“I love you so much,” Thomas had whispered after a few moments. Edward had slumped against his shoulder, barely able to stand. “So much.”

“As do I,” Edward replied before lazily kissing him. “Now let me get that cock of yours into my mouth.”

The memory of it all was enough to for Edward to shake and then spill all over his mattress. He whined loudly, not caring if anyone heard and whispered out Thomas’ name. He smiled and laughed softly once his thoughts cleared, knowing that when he told Thomas about this tomorrow, the man who blush and kiss him hard.


	7. careful with a clever mind (Little/Jopson)

Little sighed into each kiss planted onto his lips. Jospon was gentle and sweet, tracing his fingers across Little’s jaw and neck between each kiss.

Intimacy didn’t come easy on this ship, they barely had any time to themselves as it was. Passion was saved for the nights Little could find some reason to be in Jopson’s cabin, with the excuse that they were spending what little free time they had to chat, catch up on reading, or mend their clothes together. Crozier had Little sneaking to the cabin once, and Little had stammered out an excuse, pathetic and weak.

It had worked thanks to Jopson who had closed any weak points later when called to service. This was not a sneak away moment now, but something more bold. Crozier was gone, off to Erebus for some matters. The polar nights were in full force now, with no sunlight at all and it left the Captain’s Cabin dark. Light from the stars above illuminated what they needed to see, and it highlighted the fine angles of Jopson’s face.

Edward could scarcely believe someone so beautiful could love him so dearly. The light made his already pale eyes appear more luminous, are though the finest starlight in the night sky had been made physical and gifted to an even more ethereal man.

“You’re beautiful,” Edward couldn’t help himself. “God’s finest creation.”

Thomas laughed and placed a kiss to his forehead. “You haven’t look in a mirror recently have you dearest.”

“I mean it,” Edward laughed softly, blushing at those words. “Every part of you screams angelic and perfect. Not a flaw to you, my love.”

Thomas smiled, small dimples showing. “And what part do you love most?”

He bit his lip, “Let me see you. I’ll tell you once I get a good look at you”

Thomas stepped back and Edward looked over him, as though he were inspecting a piece of art, meticulously picking up every detail and brushstroke. “Your hands. They are well worked, yet there such gentleness to them.” He moved forward and took those hands into his and brought them up to his lips. He kissed each digit. “You take care of them and it shows.”

Edward then brought his hands to his shoulder. “These shoulders are broad and strong. You carry yourself with pride and confidence.” He kissed through the fabric of Thomas’ shirt where his collarbone would be, nuzzling into it slightly.

“And on those fine shoulders is a good head.” Looked up to him then as Thomas looked down. Their noses brushed. “A fine nose, soft kissable lips, eyes that shine even in the dark, the most brilliant smile, dimples that’d make Venus jealous, and the most spectacular mind.”

“You’re too kind to me Edward,” Thomas breathed. “I don’t deserve your kind words.”

“Your modesty is also very attractive,” Edward laughed. “Were you expecting me to be lewd and talk about what a fine manhood you have and what are great arse you have? Why would I when you give me the opportunity to praise other wonderful parts of you.”

It was Thomas’ turn to laugh. “Yes, I was expecting that, almost looking forward to a well description of it actually.”

“Well those are fantastic too, but these parts are just as amazing. More amazing I dare to say.”

Thomas kissed him then, quick and soft. “I love you so much Edward.”

“I love you too,” He whispered lovingly. “More then you could ever know.”


	8. didn't know what i was missing (Harry, Robert and Archie)

“Look a frog!”

Archie had remained quiet most of their trip down to the beach near Cellardyke. The sudden exclamation had been enough to make Robert drop his pencil.

Harry had dragged them out, saying he wanted company while collecting specimens and water samples, and Robert had played the good younger brother whining all the way down. The term beach was loose, it was a collection of little pools collected between the rocks that made up this portion of the shoreline. They were shallow enough that Harry had thrown his shoes and socks up onto one of the rocks where Robert and Archie sat and muddled about with his pants rolled to his knees.

They towered over him, the rock was large and had about a foot on him, not that both Robert and Archie were shorter than Harry without said rock. Just that if Robert so desired he could tackle his brother from above and cause serious damage. Damage enough that he could potential kill or seriously maim his older brother. It crossed his mind several times however.

Harry didn’t need Robert to cause harm to himself, the second frog was said his older brother went darting in the direction Archie pointed and nose dived for the little critter. Water went splashing up and Robert for a second feared for his brother, till the fool scurried over with a frog in his dirty hand; he was absolutely drenched and covered in dirt. If their mam didn’t kill him for ruining his clothes, their father was sure to.

“Just a common frog,” He proclaimed happily. “But look at her. The spots on this little thing are marvelous.” He moved the frog to his other hand and began to pet it with his index finger. Robert couldn’t help but laugh at the display.

“Better use for fish bait later than for petting, Henry,” Robert teased, using his brother’s formal naming knowing it would piss him off. Harry looked to him with a pout, before down to the frog. He put his hand into the water gently, letting go of the critter. It swam quickly away.

“Heading back might be smart,” Archie spoke quietly. Robert was unsure how he could be related to such a shy person. The oldest of them, John was reserved at best, but Archie had him beat somehow on the quietness scale. Soft spoken and so gentle, it was hard to believe he was 16 going onto 17 with his mannerisms. Robert remembered being an absolute terror at his age.

“I think that’s a grand idea,” Harry said as he began to climb up to where they sat. After a few grunts and a soft curse, he was up on the rock and spoke again. “I’m absolutely soaked.”

“Maybe don’t go jumping for frogs, Henry.”

“Maybe you should shut your mouth, Bob.”

Robert snickered, and Harry gave a grin. All this teasing was nothing, but a way of showing affection.

The trek back home didn’t take long, Cellardykes wasn’t far from Anstruther proper, but it had been Harry’s turn to complain. He had been wet to the point put his socks on was near impossible and walked back bare foot.

“You’re such a baby,” Robert teased, earning a dirty look in return.

“You’re very lucky I like you Bob. Very lucky.” He tried making himself sound stern, but it was no use. There was a hint of amusement in his voice that made Robert grin hard.

“You’re going to be staying around much longer?” Archie asked from ehind them. “Home I mean.”

They were near the harbour now, just a quick walk up Haddfoot Wynd and to the Backdykes then home. Robert could see the familiar white house already.

“A few days more,” Harry walked out a bit, giving room for Archie to walk between the two of them. “Mam wants me home for a bit longer since John couldn’t come with me. I couldn’t break her heart by leaving earlier.”

Archie bumped shoulders with Robert as he walked in between them. Robert had arrived home just a short while after his baby brother and before Harry, so there had been a day or two where he spent most of his time with the kid. It had been a shock to see how much this boy had grown in a short time. He had laughed when he pointed it out to Harry and his brother had had bitter mentioned that Archie was finally taller than him. Officially, Harry was the shortest out of the 6 of them and Robert had teased him constantly about it till their mam put a stop to it. Still, 3 weeks later he could barely get over how much Archie had grown and filled out. Pride swelled in him.

“I wish you’d stay the entire summer with me,” Archie said softly, but Harry just shrugged.

“You have Rob, you’ll survive. I’ve got to get back to my job.”

Robert laughed, “You’re not going to survive, sorry Archie kid, but I’m going to make this summer torture for you.”

Archie shot him a dirty look, something he had though his little brother was incapable of doing which only made Robert laugh harder. The rest of the walk home was uneventful and unexciting as the rest of Harry’s time at home would prove to be, but it had been special to Robert in a way. Any moment with them had always been special to him, despite how much he’d deny it.

When he would later look back on the summer, the last one before their mother’s death and their family had begun to fall apart, Robert found himself aching. A part of him wishing he had appreciated those days better with his brothers before they went on to die on him, leaving him alone.


	9. Interlude (Crozier & Jopson)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crozier is Jopson's dad sorry lads I don't make the rules

He hadn’t slept in what felt like years. It was getting to him along with the constant demand of his attention. This had been the first moment Crozier had gotten for himself in the days leading after Carnivale. There was no comfort in knowing so many men just like himself were plagued by the fires and by the deaths. He hadn’t left Terror since he had stepped back foot onto it, words he once told Sir John rang in his ears. He was peevish off his ship when all was good. He was downright paranoid now.

Fitzjames was the quite the same. Francis hadn’t left the burnt site until he could get someone to lead James away, back to Erebus to get some sleep. He didn’t want to baby the man, not now that they were on somewhat good terms, but he felt the need to look into James and make sure he was alright. He didn’t dare ask any man to go and check on Erebus’ situation and more specifically James’ in fear of damaging pride. The only person who was back and forth enough to share intel on how Erebus was doing was Dr. Goodsir, who looked almost more worn thin than Francis felt. He spoke of giving laudanum to James when he had forgoed a second night of sleep and Le Vesconte was helping carry the burden. All was as well as it could be. Men were healing from their burns and they had been lucky to not lose any to infection. Men on Terror were just the same and Bridgens was apparently doing an excellent job.

The lone surgeon had clamped up when Crozier had inquired onto his own well being and sleeping habits. One could take a look at the young man and see that he was not taking care of himself in order to take care of his patients, doing the job of 4 surgeons was already taking its toll. He felt pity for the poor man. He felt pity for Lieutenant Little as well, who had taken on more duties and time to help with damage control. Francis had tried stopping him on several occasions, but something had clicked in his first’s mind since that night and he seemed possessed in this idea that he was to blame in part.

“I should have known better, I should have said something against it to the Commander.” Crozier didn’t like eavesdropping, but Edward’s voice had not low enough that he could not help but overhear. He had been entering his own cabin when he heard the two men talking from the steward’s cabin.

“Don’t shoulder the blame, Edward.” Jopson had said in return, voice soft. “The men are not angry at the Captains or you. They’re just scared. Don’t take on what you need not to.”

He felt gross knowing that Little blamed himself, that Fitzjames was the same, that Goodsir was pushing himself too hard, that Silence was laid hurt in MacDonald’s old cabin, that Stanley had been pushed to the point he felt it necessary to kill himself and the rest of them. Hell, he still felt the shame and guilt over Tom, his dearest friend losing a leg because he was so blind in his anger and drunkenness. Francis could not help, but shoulder all of this. If he had not been invalid for so long, beyond even his sobering and into his drunken stupors and melancholy, maybe he could have done something, though how could he have predicted that Stanley would have done such a thing? He didn’t know the doctor well, but from what he had heard of the man, he was leveled headed and a good doctor, if not intimidating and found little to no joy in being a caretaker and was not afraid to show so.

He hadn’t time to dwell further in these sorts of melancholic thoughts as Jopson entered into room with a tray. He was sitting by the table, still kept in place with rope, Neptune underneath it by his feet. He could feel the dog lift his head in attention to Jospon’s presence and begin to pant excitedly. Francis’ lips twitched in an almost smile, he knew Jopson spoiled Neptune enough that it made him get excited when the steward would enter the room. It was endearing, and he shared in the same sentiments. Seeing Jopson was always a welcomed sight.

“I’ve got some tea for you Sir,” Jopson crossed the room quickly, placing the tray with steaming teapot onto the table swiftly despite Neptune practically launching himself underfoot. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

Francis watched as he poured the tea into one of the china teacups. “You know the answer to that one, Thomas. I know what you’ll ask, and I did try, but this brute here-” He gestured to Neptune who had put his head into his lap. “-decided it would be a smart idea to whine all night long and keep me up.”

Thomas laughed, a soft thing, but enough to bring the dimples out in his cheeks. “A terrible lie if you don’t mind me pointing out.”

He didn’t want this conversation. He wouldn’t be able to handle placing anymore on this man, he owed him that much. “Are you busy at the moment?”

A shrug. “Besides bring you some tea I have a few moments to spare before I should get to my other duties. Mr. Diggle won’t begin supper for some time now, so I won’t have anything too pressing to do if you need me. Of course, even if I did have such matters you know-”

“Sit with me for a moment and have tea. It’s been too long since we’ve done so.”

Thomas nodded. “Of course. Let me grab another teacup.”

He was back as quickly as he left, and Francis watched as he poured tea for himself too and situated himself at the other end of the table. Neptune abandoned Francis to go get pets from Jopson, who was glad to do so.

“How have you been faring?” He asked gently. “All well?”

Thomas took a quick sip of the tea, “Beyond the obvious dread that we all have been feeling, I am well.” He couldn’t look Francis in the eyes, which was concerning. “Mainly I have been worried for you and Ed- Lieutenant Little.”

“You needn’t be.” Thomas quickly looked at him, but away again. “Things will settle.”

When would they though? They would need to walk out at some point, when April comes around more likely than not and there was no guarantee of help. Everything was thrown in the air when there was little confidence it would come back down again.

“I have utmost confidence they will,” Thomas spoke softly. “I know you’ll do everything in your power to make sure of it and it brings me peace. It brings all of some peace knowing we have such a good man in charge.”

Francis gave a short laugh. “Your flattery is appreciated, but it does nothing.”

“Are we calling the truth flattery now? I wish someone told me before I spoke it.”

Francis laughed hard at that, and Thomas laughed along too. He was the only person who had the confidence to speak back to him like that beside Blanky and it was wonderful. It was appreciated and welcomed.

“In all honesty, Captain,” Thomas began when their laughter died down. “Your handling of all this has been truly appreciated. It would bring me more comfort to know that you were sleeping through the nights, but I can only ask for so much. Thank you for what you are doing for us. I need to tell you this now, before I lose the opportunity to do so.”

He felt his heart ache at those words. He’d never the right words to put to how he felt for his steward, there was a sort of mentorship that leaned heavily on feelings of fatherly affections for him, despite the fact Thomas was more than a man grown. To have his affections and to know he looked to him in such a way filled Francis with more pride and happiness he could admit.

“And I should thank you for being by my side along all this,” He said. “I know this hasn’t been easy.”

“If we can survive the Antarctic and Erebus nearly running us over, I think we can survive anything Captain. The Arctic doesn’t scare me quite like almost being shipwrecked by that beast of a ship. You got us out of that one, you’ll get us out of this one. Knowing that makes this all easy.”

Again, he laughed, though the experience had been traumatic, he could remember Jopson that night when Terror had nearly been sunk by Erebus saying how ironic that danger came from themselves. It was almost good to bring up such a memory.

“I only wish to have your confidence and hope.” He admitted, Thomas’ expression went soft at that.

“I believe you already have that hope Sir, though you don’t wish to share it.”

The topic was switched after that, what more could they say without being to get repetitive. So, talk went to the gossip that Thomas was skilled in picking up. It wasn’t much. Talk of how Blanky was apparently having to soak his leg since it still stunk of booze, Goodsir sneaking naps using checking on Silence as an excuse to get uninterrupted time, and Hodgson who had in some insensitivity nearly caused a tiff with Irving and other little things that didn’t mattered and yet mattered so much.

It was a good break from the thoughts that had plagued him and of course it would come from Jopson. Truly a debt he would need to pay back, he owed him that much.


	10. til you breath your last (Stephen and Mary Stanley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags spell Dr. Stanley's name wrong and it fills me with so much rage lol

Mary Ann Speight came to his door with a baby in arms.

“I left my husband,” Was the first thing out of her mouth. “I didn’t know who to turn to, but you.”

Mary had always been a little thing, though most people were little to him, but now she appeared almost mousy. The baby in in her arms was a little thing as well. He knew it to be named Sam, after his father. The whole image in front of him made his heart throb with pity.

 “You’re more than welcome to come in,” He moved aside from the door, an arm waving her in. The relief on her face was immediate.

“Thank you, Stephen.”

His mouth twitched as a weak excuse of a smile. He had known Mary before she was Speight and when she had been Windus. She was an old friend and while Stephen wasn’t the open-hearted kind man he should be, he knew better than to leave a friend in need. She stayed with him in the months afterwards, settling things with her ex-husband, trying to be a mother, and coming to terms with her future. He tried his hand at it too, little Sam was hardly a baby to be honest, but was ever so affectionate. He’d never admit it to anyone, but to be the one to make this child smile and laugh brought butterflies to his stomach. He was more than willing to make goofy faces and coddle the child as much as he wanted.

Mary remained the only person to see him in such a manner. She’d laugh and tease; her smiled valued just as much to her son’s. She could have gone back to her family, but she remained with him. There were rumours of course, but for the most part it was just about how kind Dr. Stanley was to turn in a poor divorced woman with her child, though how dare she be divorced. Whispers of how she must be a terrible woman if she refused to turn to her family and how wonderful he must be to take pity on such a creature. Mary ignored this with class and smiles, never once letting on that these words wounded her. Of course, they never did, she was stronger and better than that. In the evenings, when Sam would be asleep, and it would be only them up she would have words to say about the neighbors too and they were clever enough to make Stephen laugh.

“I count myself lucky to hear such a wonderful sound,” She had said one night with a grin on her face. It had been enough to make him blush.

He loved Mary Ann. He dreamt of marrying her, but she had refused him so many times.

“Your reputation would be tarnished if you married some divorced women with some child that wasn’t yours.” She had confessed after his 4th proposal. “I want better for you.”

“If you want what is best for me, do you not consider what I want or what I think?” He kept his voice steady, taking a step towards her. “I don’t care about my reputation like that. Why would I deny myself happiness over something so petty and insignificant? Besides, it is worse to be living with an unmarried woman.”

She brought a hand to his cheek, “Why upset the balance we have now.” He didn’t argue that, and it had been the end to his proposals for the time being. Their status did not stop the affections though that had come through.

It was all so scandalising, the relationship they hid. Soft kisses shared in an empty room, quick glances and hands held. At night, she would worm her way into his bed, place a kiss to his cheek and a quick whispered, “Goodnight Stephie.”

When he was about to go off in to serve abroad HMS Cornwallis was when he proposed once more. This would be the reason why Commander Fitzjames would choose him for Erebus later, but then he had no idea of the future laid. He had an idea though of what he wanted, and it all involved Mary.

“When I come home,” He’d whispered to her the eve before he’d be gone. “Marry me.”

“Of course.” So simple after now 5 proposals. It was more than perfect.

They had finally married on May 10, 1845, barely 2 weeks before he’d leave aboard HMS Erebus. They had scarcely any witnesses though none of them matter except Sam. This sweet little boy he had watched grow and referred to him as daddy was happy to finally be properly called Samuel Leopold Stanley.

The honeymoon was short lived, and he promised his dearest Mary he’d come home. There was excitement in it all, the life they could finally have when he’d get back. In the short time they were married together they discussed plans of having more children and maybe moving else where, maybe to the country. It made leaving her harder.

“I’ll come back to you Molly,” They’d set sail in a couple of hours. He snuck what little personal time left to be with her and Sam. They held each other then, their foreheads touching. “I’ll come back to you and we can start life proper.”

“I look forward to it.” She had breathed before pressing her lips to his. “Keep your promise Stephie, I might not forgive you if you don’t.”

“You would forgive me, we both know this.”

She laughed at that, “You are always my exception. Don’t think of that as an invitation not to come home.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He pressed one more kiss to her lips. “I love you too much to stay away.” Then it was Sam’s turn for goodbyes.

His son had squeezed him hard in a hug, and Stephen had feigned being hurt and suffocation. Sam had laughed at that.

“I can hardly believe how big you’ve grown.” Stephen told him, lifting his son up into a hug. Sam had his arms around his neck, feet nearly kicking his knees. “You’ll be bigger when I get back. Be good for your mama.”

“I will daddy,” Sam tried to press a kiss to his cheek, but got his eye instead making Stephen chuckle.

He supposes that this was the last time he was truly happy.

Work aboard Erebus dragged on and he found no pleasure in it. He hadn’t as well during his time on Cornwallis, but this was less so. He had barely any affection for the young doctor who assisted him before they had set sail, but Goodsir had grown cold with him sometime along the way and Stephen had grown so as well.

He missed them dearly, his little family. There was always that knowledge that he’d make it home that pushed him through. The thought of his most dear Molly with her fine smiles and thick blonde hair that she always had up in a messy bun that gave him some form of hope. He dreamt of coming home to her, kissing her deeply, running his hands through her hair and holding her once more. It was plenty to bring him through the first two winters, but by the third year on the ship such thoughts of her could not drive away the melancholy.

Then Mr. Goodsir had to ruin it all for him.

“Worse and worse, Doctor,” This man had told him, panic fading away from his face and something more like contempt. Goodsir had just told him that they were being slowly being poisoned and it took everything in Stephen not to break down. It was to say, the final straw.

They were going to die. He was never going to go home to his Molly or Sam. There was never going to be a future where they were out of London and in some county somewhere with a bundle of children that they dreamt of. He was never going to hold her close ever again, her warm body always so inviting. There was only the arctic, cold and cruel.

He was going to fix that.

He thought of it as a mercy, setting them all on fire. It would be better to die in a blaze than to freeze to death or to have your body succumb to the lead. He was calm as he poured the oil over his head and brought the torch to his body. He could feel the pain of cooking, but barely registered it. Stephen Stanley's last thoughts were that of hoping Mary would find it in her to forgive him for making her a widow. He was sorry he broke his promise.

As uncertain her future was now, there was comfort for Stephen that one day when she’d die as an old and grey woman, he’d be with her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't actually know a whole lot about the relationship between Dr. and Mrs. Stanley other than the marriage date and that she never remarried so take what you will. Barely any of this is taken from real life and I genuinely think Dr. Stanley was probably a huge softie for her


	11. no stones ahead here (Little)

The house exterior hadn’t changed much since he left. Old Dovers hadn’t changed much either, the road still the same and the stores never changing. Edward had tried to find every excuse to not come back, afraid of what laid inside. Staying in London had been easy and almost expected. His first trip had been to see his sister, dear Alice who had married a successful accountant and lived the perfect life for a woman of her status. The last he saw of her was a dinner two nights before they left Greenhithe, with her gaggle of children running about.

He had been heartbroken to hear she had died, complications during childbirth. He gave some credit to his brother-in-law for not remarrying just yet. The poor man when he had seen him truly seemed to be in mourning. The children scarcely remembered their uncle though Edward was not hurt by this. The man they could have remembered didn’t exist anymore.

He had taken some time as well to travel with Thomas, who had gone off to see his own family. It was then that Edward had learned of Thomas’ lie. William and Sarah Jopson only had one son, meaning Thomas had no brothers. It wasn’t a brother who lost a shoe resulting in his mother’s handicap, but his youngest sister. Edward had been greeted to three young women, Mary, Sarah and Ann Jane who all seemed to share striking resemblance to their older brother. They all seemed a tad wary of him at first, but not long afterwards he had the girls cooing over him, asking him stories about what happened out there. He hadn’t spent much time with Thomas’ family.

“I love them dearly and I’ve missed them,” Thomas had shared during an evening walk. “But staying here is almost suffocating.”

Edward got that right away. After all that time away, experiencing the things they did, it was almost unbearable to be around people again. He felt as though he was still out there, in the Arctic and that this was all some dream that he couldn’t fully believe. Even when there was lucidity, Edward still felt as though he was just peering in. As though he didn’t belong anymore.

So after nearly two months in London and St. Marylebone, Edward decided it was time to leave for Canterbury. The trip would have been considered long if they had never hauled over land. Two hours was a long time for the average English man, but too short for Edward. He didn’t want the time to pass, to confront his family again. And then here he was, outside the townhouse his parents would be in. The only different thing about it was the door, it’s knob still shiny.

Fear ran through him. A gulp and then he gave 3 hard knocks.

His stomach and chest felt tight to the point where he could feel and hear his heartbeat clearly when the steps from inside grew close. The woman who opened the door was young, maybe 20 at the oldest. She wore a plain dress, something more standard for a house servant.

“Yes, how can I help you?” He could already tell her accent was Folkestone.

“Hello,” He started weakly. ”I’m here to see Mr. and Mrs. Little.”

She looked at him with suspicion and panic set in him.

“Please.”

She nodded, “Please come in.”

The interior hadn’t changed one bit. The wood panelling still worn, the furniture familiar. He followed the servant to what he knew would be the drawing room. She held out her hand in a sign for him to stop before she entered the room alone.

“A man is here to see you.”

“Who?”

Edward felt himself choke up hearing that voice. Despite what he felt of his parents, he had missed them. His father’s voice was still strong, but he sounded aged at the same time. It hit Edward then, that time really had passed by, that he had missed so much.

“Didn’t say sir, he’s right here.”

“Send him in.”

She came back out and waved him in.

The drawing room had always been one of the more brighter rooms in the house, the opulent look of it came from the bright colours of the furniture and the nicest paintings in the house stayed here. His father, in his dark clothes stuck out like a sore thumb. When he entered, his father stood to his feet immediately, his hair had gone white, and the lines ran deeper on his face in the time he was away, but it was still him.

“Edward,” His father gasped, and it shocked him to see tears welling up in his eyes. “My boy.”

He couldn’t help himself. He felt the tears hit his eyes as well and he found himself crying. “I’m home papa.”

 


	12. as he touched my trembling hand (john sr/elizabeth goodsir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Harry's parents a lot ok and I was having a lot of feelings about them and I know it isnt related AT ALL TO THE TERROR but I wanted to do this
> 
> let me live

She had been the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

The church was nothing of splendor, but much like the one back home with its simple pews and few stain glasses windows. It was homely and one couldn’t help, but feel calm within its walls. There was a chill in the air from the cold December winds that would sneak in through the window panes and loose door. The year had been 1811.

They had business to attend to in Carnbee, nothing of great importance when he’d think back on it, but it had been enough to warrant a trip out on a Sunday. When the minister had heard, Rev. Joseph Taylor, he had invited them to sit in on his sermon then join them for dinner that night before making their way back to Anstruther. His father had agreed, and John had no choice in the matter.

In the church, he had found the sermon to be delightful, but boring. He had never the taste for religious materials though he did find the little jokes strewn about more than amusing as he laughed along with the crowd a few times. It was at one point when he caught the sight of a bit of red. He was surprised it hadn’t caught his attention earlier, but now he could not rip his eyes away. It was the pelisse of a young woman, dyed in the Turkish red that had been popular then. A fine coat for her Sunday best. At one point she had turned her head, enough so that he could see she was beautiful. He hair was as dark as coal.

Once the sermon was over and the crowd had all but disperse, he got to meet the young woman, who turned out to be the minister’s daughter.

“This is my oldest daughter,” The reverend introduced. “Elizabeth. This is my other daughter, Ann. And this-”

John, was how you would say, dumbfounded staring at this radiant woman. Her hair was done in one of the latest fashion (this he knew from his own sister, Janet) and one could tell that her hair was curled in such a way naturally, not by artificial means. Her face was round and soft, and her nose was not a little dainty thing but rather tall and refined. She smiled at him when she caught him staring and those soft, full lips that were rosy in colour. His father elbowed him hard which made the family laugh and it was then he realised he had been staring with a mouth open.

Not his finest moments.

At dinner, he was distracted not by her beauty, but by her wits. It must have been luck (or the work of an attentive mother) that John sat next to Elizabeth. She spoke of her artwork, or books she had read and when John mentioned his own studies in medicine, she was able to keep up in the conversation. They had been so enraptured with each other, finding a moment to sit together in the drawing room (with said attentive mother watching over them) talking about anything and everything.

“You have a very lovely smile,” She had complimented him later in the evening “And very pretty eyes.”

Oh, how he had blushed. He sputtered out a thank you, while wanting to tell her that she had pretty eyes too; greener than anything he had ever seen.

When it had been time to go, he had been disappointed, but was told by the reverend he was welcome to visit if he was ever in town again.

So, John Goodsir found every reason to be in Carnbee. By his fourth visit, he had asked permission to court Miss Elizabeth Taylor and had nearly jumped in excitement when it was given. They did not court long before they were engaged, Elizabeth had kissed him in front of her parents when their blessing had been given and John could help, but blush and laugh.

The wedding itself had taken place in Anstruther. It had been the first day of February of 1812 and John would never forget how beautiful she was in her wedding dress. Back then, white had not been the colour of dresses, but rather whatever colour your Sunday best was. White was in fashion for the evening and fine dresses so that is what she had worn, with a row of red beads around her neck. A gift from him, when he had learned red was her favourite colour. The ceremony had been short, and intimate. Leaving the church with his wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Goodsir had been one of the happiest moments of his life.

They had been wed for around 2 years when they finally welcomed a child into their home. It had been just before he purchased a proper home for them to live in, but rather still lived so close to the Firth you could see it out your window. After that day he was referred to as John Senior as to lessen confusion. John had been born after a terrible winter, on one of the first warm days they had. He had stayed out of the room, not wanting to invoke the rage of the midwife and when he finally entered, he was pleased to see Elizabeth rosy cheeked, hair disheveled and utterly tired with a baby in her arms.

They went through that seven times. Joseph had still been crying when John Sr had hold him for the first time, squawking loudly, as though to tell his parents that he would never stop talking,and by God he never did. Jane and Henry he had both been there in the room to witness, holding Elizabeth’s hand as she screamed. Jane had been no trouble at all and Harry had proven all the trouble leaving his poor wife to faint from pain. Agnes had been born only to die a year later, and he had held Elizabeth in her grief as she wept and wept. He was ashamed to admit it, but Robert had been conceived not long after Agnes death in an attempt to quell grief with lovemaking, but they had been happy to find themselves with another baby, though the pain of their daughter’s death stuck with them. He had held and kissed little Robert a thousand times as his son made soft noises that delighted him.

Archie had been the last, he had been tiny and had barely cried. At 41, no one had expected her to have more children and Archie had been a good finish to their large family.

They had all proven to be a handful, John was smart and often too much for his own good, Robert was trouble all around, and Jane seemed to be the only thing keeping her brothers in line most days.

Sometimes when they would all become rowdy at the dinner table, Elizabeth would turn to him and whisper, “We should have stopped at Joseph” which would cause him to laugh loudly.

There had been hard times, and of course the best of times, but no matter what they went through he had been happy to hold her hand through it. He still found himself amazed by her beauty and brains, how quick and tempered her tongue was, and how quickly she could command attention even from their gaggle of loud children.

In the 30 years he had known her, he had never imagined himself where he was now.

He sat in the chair next to her bed, watching her sleep softly. She barely ever had easy sleep anymore, the typhoid raged in her something fierce. Some days she was lucid and other days fever made her see things. Sometimes she’d ask for her father, who had been dead for over a decade, or ask if Robert needed a feeding as though he was still a baby and not 18 years old.

Most of their children were gone off, doing their professions and making their parents proud. With her deteriorating so fast, he had written letters asking them all to come home as it was obvious, she was going to lose this fight. His dear Eliza was on her deathbed and despite being a man of medicine there was nothing he could do except hold her hand. Only Jane and Harry were home, with Jane still being unmarried and Harry working alongside him as a physician. He had sent them out of the room just to be with her, to watch over her.

Watching her sleep, he thought back to that dinner so many years ago, the days at the beach they’d spend with their children, evenings in the drawing room with her pencil going wild on paper sketching out something new, or just waking up next to her each morning. They had a whole past behind them, and he had expected a future with his dear Eliza. The thought of losing her, and a future where he’d no longer wake up next to her frightened him.

She had seen through it and told him that her only wish was that he’d keep their children safe and he’d live for them.

He could do this for her, even if it scared him.

When she woke up, she looked about the room and then found him. She looked at him, though aged, her face still the same as it had been so long ago. She smiled, one Robert had inherited, and he could see bits and pieces of her now more than ever in their children. Jane had her full lips, Harry her unruly curls and soft face, John had the same little dimples in his cheeks, Archie’s eyes were almost as green as hers and Joseph that tall refined nose.  It gave him comfort then to know little bits of her would stay with him along with the memories they had made, in the family they had created.

“Still as prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” He whispered to her, and she laughed. And for a moment, he could forget what now laid before them.


	13. stumble out into the light (Harry Goodsir)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite it all he still had a chill in his bones. It was like the Arctic didn’t want to leave him.

Despite it all he still had a chill in his bones. It was like the Arctic didn’t want to leave him.

Most days he would wrap himself up in as many layers of clothing he could get away with and pray that maybe the chill would be warded away, but it scarcely ever worked. Harry was stubborn though, if not tired. Sleeping had become the worst of it. Blankets upon blankets could not keep out the cold.

In the dark room that he had once shared with Joseph, sometimes he would be transported else where. The sound of flapping canvas would fill his ears and his bedding would be a hard as the mattress he once laid on. King William Island refused to leave him, and he could not sleep.

On one such night, he had gotten out of bed hoping for some relief outside his door. He had been tempted to go to the next room where he knew Silna was sleeping but was distracted by a glow that seemed to start at the bottom of the stairs. In the drawing room. So, he went down.

The fireplace was alight, and Robert sat in front of it. He had seemed to scatter the pillows and blankets from the couches onto the floor and made what was basically a nest. It struck Harry to see this sight, once long ago when they were still so young, they would do the same. Sometimes baby Archie would join them, still unsteady on his feet. He could remember once falling asleep only to be woken up by their father carrying them up to their beds.

The memory alone brought some warmth to him.

“Can’t sleep, Bob?” Harry spoke softly. Robert had jumped a little, but look at him expectantly, as though he had know he’d come down eventually.

“Somewhat. I’d ask the same of you but…” A little smile appeared on his lips. “Those bruises under your eyes say all.”

He nodded, smiling. No point trying to deny.

“Mind if I join you?”

“You know I never do.”

There hadn’t been much chatter after that. Harry had cozied himself in with one of the blankets and leaned on Robert as he read.

Eventually, he leaned his head entirely onto to Robert’s shoulder, closing his eyes. The warmth from the fire had made him drowsy. In return, an arm was wrapped around him and kiss place his hair.

“I missed you.” Robert breathed. “So, so much.”

He hummed. “Missed you too.”

For the first time since he got back, he felt no chill.

**Author's Note:**

> cicadaemon.tumblr


End file.
